


the road back home

by BeesKnees



Category: Being Human (UK)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, F/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 10:42:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeesKnees/pseuds/BeesKnees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Annie imagines what life would be like if she had met Mitchell in another life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the road back home

They could have only met like this. Otherwise, who knows how it would have ended? 

She could have met him at the pub, where he would have glanced across the room, and she would have giggled at a single look. Brought apart; the room would have been dim enough that maybe he could have hidden the way his eyes flashed dark. 

He would have slipped toward her, arm wrapped around her waist, and she would have left, easily forsaking the comfort of whatever friends she was with, for the mere hint of attention from him. He would have guided her home — his place, not hers — and he would have probably told some kind of funny story, whispered low and charmingly into the hollow of her ear, just above her pulse. 

He would have asked her name, and she would have paused a moment too long, before laughing when she could finally remember it — Annie. 

“Annie,” he would repeat, and he would open the door, letting them both inside. A fluttering kiss against the arch of her neck. “I’m Mitchell.” 

There would be another glass of wine of two, and maybe he would make play at pretending to drink, and maybe he wouldn’t. His smile would be broad enough, his stories appealing enough that she would laugh too loudly, slide too close, and by the time, he moved to kiss her properly, Annie would melt into him entirely, her hand resting on his shoulder. 

He would strip her down slowly, his fingers playing across the soft fabric of the clothes she was wearing — first her sweater, and then her shirt. He would tease his fingers across the sensitive flesh of her stomach, and she would shudder underneath him, only able to see the outline of him in the darkness of the room. 

She would close her eyes and breathe him in deep, and maybe talk too quickly about how she doesn’t usually do this sort of thing, because she — and he’d kiss her, devour her completely. He’d lick open her mouth with the flat of his tongue, teeth playing a little too sharply against her lower lip. Mitchell would rock himself against her, and she’d feel him, full and hard and lean against her, and finally she’d be quiet, left breathless. His teeth would prick through the supple flesh of her lower lip, blood swelling to the surface. 

She’d make some soft sound of surprise, press her fingers against it, and he’d draw back, for just a moment.  
Maybe he’d war with himself. But maybe he’d already be too far gone, committed entirely to what his plan was from the beginning. 

He’d finish undressing them, removing his own shirt with a flip of his arm so it went flying across the room. She’d be shy about touching him at first, but he’d grabbed her hand and guide her, and then she’d do whatever he wanted. Her hand against his chest, able to feel the broad expanse of muscle, the quiet crinkle of hair, before smoothing over his shoulder — a shadow of a tattoo she couldn’t quite make out. 

He’d be careful, of course, ease her into everything. He’d slide one finger and then two inside of her, over and over and over again, until she was sobbing into his shoulder, wetter than she’d ever been in her entire life. She’d sink her teeth into his shoulder for a moment, and then apologize, and then he’d laugh. 

Mitchell would reverently run his hands over her hips, press kisses to her breasts, and slide his tongue along the undersides, working his way down. His mouth would journey down her stomach, and then his tongue would play along each of her hips. And it would only be then, when she was shivering, that he’d push carefully inside of her. She’d grasp for him, and he’d come closer. 

Only after he had found his rhythm, hips rocking deftly, would he bite. His teeth would sink hard into her flesh, piercing through it, and maybe she would find it strange for just a moment, but then he’d thrust a little hard, and she’d shake underneath him, moaning breathily, so undone that maybe she wouldn’t notice the blood rolling out from underneath the play of his lips and tongue. 

One of his hands would take hold of her neck more firmly, holding her in place, and the suction would be so great that it would burn. His other hand would play down in between her legs, rubbing so that she would buck up against him, losing all of her patience. She would start to go lightheaded, because she would be so close, and wouldn’t notice the blood that was rolling down her breasts, gathering at her nipples.

She would shout out her orgasm, legs wrapped around him, pushing upward, dots of darkness dancing in front of her gaze. She wouldn’t ever come back down, blacking out as his teeth sank through her neck again and again. Her blood smeared messily across his mouth, his face, drenching his hair. He’d grasp at her as if he was chasing after her, and maybe it was only when her heart began to stutter, crying out silently in her chest, that he would come as well, his hips finally stilling.

He’d look up afterward, look down at her, and maybe wonder who she was, and what she wanted to do with her life. Maybe he’d wonder where her ghost would go. 

In the end, Annie thinks, maybe it was better they met like this, both existing on the fringes of humanity.


End file.
